


Growing Old, Staying Young

by the_random_writer



Category: Cut & Run - Madeleine Urban & Abigail Roux
Genre: Birthday, Dinner, M/M, Romantic Fluff, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-28
Updated: 2016-06-28
Packaged: 2018-07-18 17:01:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7323490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_random_writer/pseuds/the_random_writer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zane celebrates a special birthday.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Growing Old, Staying Young

Ty heard the initial commotion well before he saw the final result. There was the sound of a violent scuffle, then of someone falling or being pushed to the ground. An elderly female voice cried out, "Stop that man! He's got my purse!"

A few moments later, the man in question rushed suddenly into view, with the pilfered purse tucked securely under his arm. He bolted onto the manicured lawn at the heart of the shopping and dining centre, aiming straight for the exit gate at the other side.

Ty evaluated the perp as he moved and puffed out a despondent sigh as he realized what he might have to do. If the thief stuck to his current route, he would come within a dozen feet of his and Zane's table on the restaurant's heated terrace. Which meant that both of them were perfectly placed (and perfectly qualified) to intervene.

Fuck.

He was really getting far too old for ridiculous, gung-ho crap like this. The fingers in his hand were sore, his right shoulder was playing up and his left knee was still badly bruised from where he'd banged it on a table a few days before.

And the waiter had literally _just_ delivered their food. If he took the guy down, he would save both the day and the purse, and perhaps earn himself a kiss on the cheek from the grateful owner of the bag, but he knew from previous experience that by the time he returned to the table, his herb-rubbed steak and gourmet fries would probably be freezing cold. He hated eating cold fries, almost as much as he hated drinking warm Mike's Hard Lemonade. It was just _wrong_ , in so many ways.

He turned to Zane, who was holding a bacon-wrapped onion ring delicately between his thumb and his index finger, and watching the robber's flight with an almost clinical level of professional indifference. Not that this really came as much of a surprise to Ty. Once you'd wiped out drug cartels for the FBI and run a safe house for the CIA, it was hard to feel excited about relatively minor crimes.

"Don't suppose you want to deal with this one?" Ty enquired, using a parsley and garlic-covered fry to gesture at the fleeing thief.

Zane snorted scornfully and shook his head. "I'm too busy turning fifty. Not a fucking chance," he said as he popped the onion ring into his mouth.

Ty blew out another sigh and pushed up out of his chair, muttering obscenities under his breath. If you wanted something done properly, never ask your laid-back, zombie-loving, book-hoarding, paint-spilling, quilt-hogging, toenail-clipping, far-sighted, slightly deaf, officially middle-aged husband to do it for you.

Before he could take another step, a black and white blur shot out from behind the terrace wall. It was one of the security guys from the high-end jewellery place next door. The guard broke into a full-on sprint, hopped over the knee-high fence that ran around the edge of the lawn and intercepted the would-be robber, pounding him into the manicured grass with a sickening, bone-crunching thud.

Ty winced loudly along with the rest of the gathered spectators. He'd been on both ends of that kind of tackle, and knew _exactly_ which end he preferred. If the perp was lucky, his testicles _might_ decide to re-descend sometime before the end of the month.

Zane grinned and picked up another meat-coated ring. "Don't worry, doll. I think that guy's got it."

"Yes, thank you, Captain Obvious," was Ty's slightly tart reply.

The crowd broke into a round of applause, congratulating the plucky and slightly winded guard on a take-down very nicely done. Ty turned away from the scene and dropped back into his padded chair.

"You okay there?" Zane enquired.

Ty frowned. "Course I am," he said as he picked up the ketchup bottle. "Why the hell wouldn't I be okay?"

"Not annoyed you missed your chance to be the hero?" Zane asked, a smile tugging at his lips.

Ty snorted and poured a dollop of ketchup onto his plate. "Fuck, no," he scoffed. "I'm married with two cats, and I run a bookshop for a living. If I ever need to feel heroic, I'll go clean the customer toilets. Especially the men's," he said, shuddering very slightly. It never ceased to amaze him what people were capable of doing in a bathroom that wasn't their own. There were times when he would honestly rather sign up for another tour of duty to Kandahar or Tora Bora.

Zane smiled and leaned over to dip his onion ring in the dollop. "Don't worry, doll," he said in a comforting tone. "No matter how old and boring you get, or how many toilets you have to clean, you'll always be my hero."

Ty grunted quietly. "Jesus, Garrett, when the hell did you turn into such a romantic old sap?" he complained, the warmth in his eyes negating the tone of his words. "You say something like that again, we'll both end up in a diabetic coma. We won't need to order the sticky chocolate pudding."

"Maybe that's just what happens to people when they turn fifty," Zane mused.

"I wouldn't know."

"Touché."

"Thanks."

"And fuck you."

"Later, babe," Ty replied in a gently scolding tone. "At least let me finish my steak first."

A movement near the entrance drew their attention, but it was only a pair of local cops, come to apprehend the now-vanquished thief.

Zane gestured towards the robber, who was still curled up in a ball on the ground. "He's not gonna have a good night, is he?" he said in a very matter-of-fact tone.

"No, he isn't."

"But then, he probably shouldn't go around stealing purses from little old ladies."

"No, he shouldn't."

"I'm glad you didn't have to take him down."

Ty snorted. "So is my knee."

"You might have damaged something I'm very fond of."

"What, like my dick?" Ty shot back slightly too loudly, provoking a mildly disapproving glare from the couple at the table next door.

Zane huffed impatiently. "No, dipshit. I meant your _face_ ," he retorted.

"Oh, right," was Ty's almost forlorn response.

"Don't worry, doll," Zane added quickly, seeing his husband's face drop. "I'm very fond of your dick as well."

Ty grinned, then picked up his knife and fork to carve up his steak. "Probably a good thing, since it seems to be so fond of you."

"Does that mean you'll let me take it out for a ride around the block later?"

Ty popped a cube of steak into his mouth, then frowned intently, pretending to think as he chewed. "Well, it _is_ your birthday today, so I suppose so," he eventually replied, as if this was the toughest question he'd ever faced. "Just maybe give dinner a chance to go down first, okay?"

Zane nodded emphatically. "Dinner first, _then_ you."

Ty grunted again and rolled his eyes. "Smooth, Lone Star. _Real_ smooth."

"Or maybe we could try a round of Cops and Robbers," Zane proposed with a naughty grin, gesturing at the hapless thief, who was now in cuffs and slowly being led towards a car.

Ty's eyebrows shot up. First it was Artists and Models, then Kidnappers and Hostages, now _this_? "Not sure I want to be violently pummeled into the living room floor, babe," he said.

"Wouldn't be the first time," Zane reminded him with a smirk. "And if you're worried about your knee, we could always put the quilt down on top of the rug."

"Then throw in a few of the sofa cushions around the edges," Ty continued. "Just to be sure."

Zane grinned, then shook his head and sighed gently. "Jesus. When did we get so goddamn old?" he asked as he used his fork to peel off a chunk of his Steak Chasseur.

"Well, I'm only forty-two," Ty pointed out smugly. "So _I'm_ in my prime. _You're_ the one who's actually old."

Zane narrowed his eyes. "Gimme two hours, Meow Mix, and I swear I'm gonna make you eat your words," was his ominous threat. Then he leaned over to add in a whisper, "along with my rock hard dick."

Ty leaned over as well, bringing him almost nose to nose with his now furiously horny spouse. Not for the first time, he noticed how amazingly fuckable Zane became when he got all hot and bothered under the collar. "Bring it on, Grandpa," he murmured with a sneering grin, pushing another of his husband's buttons. "Just remember to go for a nice, refreshing nap first. Wouldn't want you to strain yourself and end up breaking a hip."

Zane growled quietly. "Your ass is _mine_ , Grady."

"Always, Garrett," was Ty's teasing but tender response. "Wherever, whenever and however you want it." He leaned in further to kiss Zane gently on the lips; a tantalizing promise of much, much more to come. He was vaguely aware of a quiet murmur of disapproval coming from some of the surrounding tables, but he didn't care. He loved Zane, and Zane loved him. Nobody and nothing else mattered, especially not today. Not their fellow diners, not the waiter, not the security guard, not the little old lady or the cops, not even the robber who'd briefly threatened to ruin their special meal.

Ty pulled away from the kiss, but only to pick up his glass of non-alcoholic, sparkling wine. "Happy birthday, babe," he said as he raised his glass. "Sorry about the robber dude, though. I swear I did _not_ ask for him when I made the reservation."

Zane lifted his own flute and chimed it gently against Ty's. "Our birthdays are getting to be almost as bad as our vac—excursions. Wouldn't be a proper night out now if something weird didn't happen along the way."

Ty snickered quietly. "At least it wasn't a streaker this time."

"I quite enjoyed the streaker, actually," Zane replied. "She had an amazing ass."

"But not as amazing as mine, right?" Ty asked with a glare that made it extremely clear exactly what Zane's answer should be.

"Oh, babe, no," Zane murmured in a reassuring tone. "And as soon as we finish our dinner, I'll take you home and show you _exactly_ how amazing I think your ass is."

"I guess I shouldn't ask to see the dessert menu, then."

"Only if you don't want to spend the rest of the night being fucked into the living room rug."

"Oh, well, when you put it _that_ way," Ty conceded.

"Yeah, that's what I thought."

"You know, it's really not a good idea to fuck someone into the living room rug on a full stomach," Ty advised, sounding like an expert from a Viagra commercial.

"Yeah, so?"

"And neither of us has the patience to wait for an hour or so while our dinner settles."

"Get to the point, Grady."

Ty flashed his husband a wicked grin. "So how about we finish the wine, put in an order for dessert, and take it and what's left of our steaks to go?"


End file.
